Cold to the Bone
by xFootprintsInTheSandx
Summary: Harry Potter was prepared to expect the unexpected when it came to Draco Malfoy. But when the latter turns up, soaked and dripping blood, on Harry's doormat, he's entitled to to be a little surprised. DM/HP


Chapter One

Harry had learned, long ago, to expect the unexpected when it came to Malfoy. He would never know when the other boy would attack him, outsmart him, outfly him at school. The only way to be prepared, was to not be prepared. To be ready for anything.

But the one thing Harry was not ready for was, five years after he had graduated from Hogwarts, was to find a sopping wet, dripping blood on his welcome mat outside his London flat. He staggered forwards, his hair plastered against his forehead, his hands raising up. Red blood painted the palms of his hands, and he collapsed.

Harry grabbed Draco under the arms and dragged him into his flat, propped him up in a chair at the kitchen table- the silvery blond head lolling up against the headline. He studied the man for a moment. He hadn't seen or heard of Draco Malfoy since the war- he figured the family had gone into low-down, wanting to let all the anger from the war cool off. He took the wand from his pocket and waved it at Malfoy. The open wound on his chest began to heal, the muscle crashing together and the skin knitting over it.

He sighed and puttered over to the oven top to heat up a kettle of water. While he waited for the man to wake up, he might as well make a good, strong cup of tea. Merlin only knows he needed it.

"Potter."

Harry looked up. It had been over an hour since Malfoy had turned up on his doorstep, and he was currently lounging on the sofa, reading a newspaper article, a cup of hot tea clutched in his hand. He pushed his glasses further up on his nose. Malfoy's eyes were open, a brilliant silver color, and he poked the closed wound on his chest with a curious expression.

"I healed it," Harry said shortly. "And cleaned up all the blood that was on the floor."

Malfoy didn't thank him, but groaned, rolling his head on his neck and blinking around the kitchen.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked, folding the newspaper and walking into the kitchen to take a seat across from him. He thought he was behaving pretty well. After all, his old childhood rival had just turned up on his doorstep, bleeding. He had the right to be angry. "What happened to you? Why my house, of all the places?"

Malfoy didn't say anything, just stared at Harry as though he were in a dream. Harry, suspicious, moved closer, squinting into the dazed eyes. His pupils were dialated, his breath coming in short spurts, his mouth hanging open. "Malfoy?" Harry passed his hand back and forth in front of the silver eyes. Malfoy leaned forward, swaying, and vomited.

It was a concussion, all right. Harry swore under his breath, grabbing his wand and waving it towards the mess on the floor, which vanished at once. He put his hand to the back of Malfoy's head, his fingers probing through the soft hair. Malfoy's eyes fluttered shut with a little sigh. Harry pulled his fingers away, and they were wet with blood. He lifted the hair and saw a deep wound, as though he'd been clubbed over the head. He touched it gently, and Malfoy hissed. He sighed, pressing the wand tip to his head, and muttering an enchantment that sounded like chanting. The wound healed to a raw pink scar. He took Malfoy under the arms once again, dragging him towards his own bedroom.

"Potter," Malfoy protested weakly. "I'm fine. Don't bother. . ." he swallwed, the muscles in his throat working hard, as though fighting the urge to retch.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said without much heat, dragging the man onto the middle of the bed. He groaned, curling up on his side and shivering. It was a warm summer's day. Harry sighed, grabbing the sheets around the man, and tucking them under his chin. Malfoy's eyes opened, his long lashes brushing his cheek, and he tried to glare at Harry. "I'm not a baby, Potter," he said weakly, the anger gone from his voice. "I don't need you taking care of me."

"Sure, Malfoy," Harry sat down in the chair by his bed and watched the blonde clutch the blankets as though they were his lifeline. It was strange, seeing Draco Malfoy in his own bed. And that brought some unwanted images into his mind. He shook his head, to clear it. "So, what the bloody hell happened to you?"

Malfoy coughed, his entire body shaking. "Death Eater haters. . ." He gasped weakly, as though all the air had been squeezed out of his lungs. "Wanted me to pay for what. . . what my parents did. . . for Voldemort."

Merlin. Malfoy said the name now. Well, much else couldn't be a surprise now. He sighed, leaning backwards in the chair and watching Malfoy squeeze his eyes shut in remembrance. "They cornered me. . . five to one. . . took my wand. . ." He sighed and hunkered down in the pillows, and a couple moments later, he was asleep.

What was Harry supposed to do now? This was possibly the most awkward situation he'd ever been in. He watched Malfoy sleep for a few moments, then turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen, trying to remember everything that had been printed in the papers about the man throughout the years. He had become an Auror, Harry remembered that scandal. An ex-Death Eater working for the ministry? Harry hadn't bothered to question it. He hadn't become an Auror, like the entire public had thought, but a Healer instead. That had been another public scandal at the time.

Did Malfoy have any family Harry should contact? That might be a good plan. He couldn't just keep the man tucked into his bed until he got better. He made his way over to his owl cage. He had gotten a new owl after Hedwig had been killed- Taris, a beautiful black male owl, about a foot tall with ruffled, glossy black feathers and a delicate orange beak. Harry opened the latch, and the owl opened his yellow eyes, and shook its head.

Harry grabbed a piece of parchment and a fountain pen and wrote a quick note.

_Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy._

_ I'm sorry to contact you like this, but your son turned up on my doorstep. He has __deep gash wounds, a concussion, a fever. I haven't checked him over yet. He says he was attacked by a group of Death Eater haters? I don't know what to do- should I bring him to your house, so you can properly take care of him? That seems like the best idea. For now, I'm going to try to heal him as well as I can. _

_Send me back your word, as soon as possible,_

_Harry Potter_

He rolled the parchment into a scroll and offered it to Taris, who looked haughtily down. "Can you take this to Malfoy manor?" He asked. "If that's where his parents are. Don't come back until you get a response."

If Taris could sigh, he probably would have. He grabbed the scroll in a long-suffering manner and spread his wings to take off through the window. Harry watched the small black form fly off into nothingness, and then made his way back into his bedroom. Malfoy was cuddled up under his blankets, the hair that fell into his face flying upward as he breathed deeply. Harry took a moment to admire the affect- the sunlight streaming onto the hair, giving it golden tints. Malfoy had grown since Hogwarts- his face was older, handsomer, with finely carved cheekbones and straight, angled features.

Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy, and muttered another spell under his breath that caused parts of him to shine red. He frowned. The spell was to tell him all the injuries of the other man, and there were too many indications to be good. He flicked his wand towards the man again- a simple incantation that would put him in a deep sleep. Harry pulled the sheets off of him, taking care that it wouldn't wake him, and went to work.

The first red glow was in the center of Malfoy's chest. With some hesitation, he pulled off Malfoy's shirt, feeling slightly awkward, but not bothering to pretend he wasn't staring. Damn, but the man was fit. He shook his head. Medical. He was a professional. He pressed his fingers to the slight purpling in the center of his chest, and heard the man's breath hitch in pain. Probably broken ribs. He mended them, feeling sweat beading on his forehead. Healing so much at one time was taking a toll on him.

He persevered. Malfoy must have had to ran into the worst gang of Death Eater haters there were. Apart from the concussion, the deep wounds on his chest and the broken ribs, he had a fractured wrist, scratches up and down his arm, long welts on his back, and, worst of all, the deepest wound of all on his left forearm- where his faded Dark Mark looked as though they had tried to cut it out of the man's skin. But Harry had healed it, as best as he could. He sighed. There was no telling what internal damages the other man had- brain swelling from the concussion, confusion, emotional trauma.

A tapping at the window made him look around, and he smiled grimly, walking over and undoing the latch as Taris swooped in, dropping a new scroll at Harry's feet. He reached down and picked it up, undoing the emerald green ribbon and unrolling it, squinting at the beautifully looping letters.

_Mr. Potter-_

_ Thank you for contacting us, and for taking our son in. It is unfortunate that these gangs do exist, and are on the large, but the Ministry is trying to stop them. Admittedly, they don't try as much as they should- some of the Dark Lord's supporters are still wanted for crimes on the outside- but the horrors that some of the gangs do are unspeakable._

_ We think it would be most advisable to take Draco back into our home- he has a small London flat, but that wouldn't be useful. That way we can care for him and not have to deal with the prejudice in St. Mungos. We would be willing to pay for your expenses if you continue to take care of him. We can't be too careful with our only son's safety, as I'm sure you understand. _

_ Our house has been placed under the Fidelius charm- to keep out any unwanted guests. With Draco, you should be able to get in, but we'll include the address as well. _

_ Lucius and Narcisssa Malfoy_

A slip of paper slid out of the scoll- also covered with that looping handwriting. He put it in his pocket and looked over at Malfoy on the bed- his mouth was open, and drool was dribbling onto the pillow. With a sigh, Harry flicked his wand toward the man, who woke with a start.

"Who's that?"

"It's me." Harry squatted down so that he was at a level with Malfoy's startlingly silver eyes. "I healed most of your major injuries, but I'm going to take you to your parents house, okay? They want to look after you." Malfoy grimaced, though at the words or how his many injuries, Harry couldn't be sure. "Should I take you by disapparation?"  
"Floo," Malfoy groaned, and at first Harry thought he was talking about another illness he had managed to protract, but then realized he meant the fireplace. "Right. Can you get up?"

Malfoy tried, as he could tell, pushing himself up on weak arms and collapsing on the bed, before folding his arms and glaring at Harry, who tried not to grin, instead adopting the sympathetic expression that he might at a dying person's bedside. "Don't worry," he said, waving his wand so that Malfoy began to float up into the air. "You can trust me."

And even though Malfoy's feet were higher than his head and he was slightly green and shivering from cold, he gave Harry a piercing stare, his eyes harder than diamonds. "I don't know," he said. "Can I?"

**More to come for those who review. . .**


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